


Porcelain

by mveloc



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-10-17 21:43:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10602849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mveloc/pseuds/mveloc
Summary: Just a little something inspired by that oh-too-brief Cophine clip we got in the BBC America trailer.





	1. Chapter 1

“These people are freaks,” Cosima mumbles beneath her breath, fidgeting with her bowtie.

 

She watches herself in the long antique mirror, brow furrowed in concentration as she tries to get the knot right. The tuxedo is ill-fitted, undoubtedly intended for a man, and it does nothing to compliment her natural curves. She feels like a child playing dress up with her father’s clothes but even still, she’s determined to make it work.

 

“I know,” Delphine agrees. “We just have to play along for now.”

 

Cosima’s eyes drift slightly over to her right in the mirror, spying the blonde through the glass. Delphine sits at the vanity on the other side of the room and carefully applies her makeup like she’s done so many times before, seemingly unbothered by the events that are currently unfolding.

 

“Is all of this really necessary?”

 

The fancy clothes, the big mansion, the exuberant dinner; it all feels like a front to her, like someone trying far too hard to both impress and intimidate her. She grew up around wealthy people who had no problem flaunting their money, but most of them (to her knowledge) didn’t belong to some secret society of eugenicists. It makes her skin crawl.

 

“He said formal attire. He’s very… _particular_ ,” Delphine replies.

 

Cosima’s frown grows larger.

 

When Delphine had returned from her trip with the news that P.T. Westmoreland himself wanted to meet her, Cosima was intrigued. Who wouldn’t want to meet the man who held the key to her origins, who’s somehow found a way to defy death? She had so many questions and she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to find answers even if it meant diving into the belly of the beast. However, her curiosity is stifled by her girlfriend’s anxiety; the way Delphine speaks of the man, the way she seems to almost flinch every time he’s even mentioned makes Cosima’s stomach churn and wonder how firm his grip on the blonde really is. He may have saved Delphine’s life, but he’s also the one keeping her prisoner on this island—the one who’s kept them apart for so long. Delphine wears a brave face, tells her that she’s got everything under control, but it’s very clear to Cosima that her monitor is uncomfortable being under this man’s thumb.

 

Delphine rises, then approaches.

 

“Here.”

 

Cosima turns into her, Delphine reaching for her bowtie. Long, slender fingers work at the tie with a sense of fluency and Cosima smiles, allowing her lover to assist her in the task.

 

“You know, you don’t have to wear this. There are other dresses,” Delphine remarks.

 

The closet in their bedroom is full of them, all much too extravagant for her taste. She had dozens to choose from, though Delphine was not awarded the same privilege; a dress had been set out for her on the bed and the servant who’d escorted them to their chambers had informed her that the master of the house demanded that she wear it. Delphine had swallowed hard and nodded silently. The entire exchange left a sour taste in Cosima’s mouth and she tried to argue with her girlfriend but Delphine was having none of it, claiming that it was a battle not worth fighting.

 

“I know. I’m just trying to make a point,” Cosima says.

 

She hasn’t even met the man yet but she already knowns that Westmoreland is narcissist and a control freak. He expects them to come marching down the stairs to eat at his table, dressed like fancy porcelain dolls for his enjoyment. She’ll have none of it. Her eyes had been drawn to one of the tuxedos hanging in the back of the closet and without a second thought, she’d plucked it out and began changing. 

 

“This isn’t really the time or place to be making a statement,” Delphine mutters, her lips drawn in a thin, straight line.

 

She falters, her once graceful hands trembling slightly. Cosima reaches for them, placing her hands over Delphine’s and giving them a reassuring squeeze.

 

“Hey,” she speaks softly, trying to catch Delphine’s gaze. “Will you just chill for a second?”

 

Delphine hesitantly meets her eyes but holds their gaze only for a second. She expels a long, uneven breath and finishes with Cosima’s bowtie, turning away once the task is complete.

 

“You’re not even supposed to be here, Cosima,” she says quietly.

 

“Then why’d he invite me?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

_That’s why I’m nervous,_ she means to add, though the words are unnecessary. Cosima can see the worry etched plainly on the doctor’s face. She had been delirious at the time, but she remembers hearing Delphine speak to the man who’d saved her and Charlotte from freezing to death in the woods; he had said that they wouldn’t be allowed to stay together, that “he” wasn’t happy about her being there. If her presence really was such a nuisance, why had he demanded that Delphine bring her to his home? It didn’t seem to make whole lot of sense unless he intended to rectify the problem.

 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” Cosima tries to reassure her with a small smile. “Let’s just get through dinner with Lord Doucheington.”

 

Delphine nods slowly, matching Cosima’s smile. 

 

Their lips find each other in a gentle embrace that soothes their nerves and gives them enough strength to leave the bedroom and make their way downstairs to face whatever awaits them. Cosima plays the part, holding Delphine’s hand and escorting her down the stairs like a gentleman. For a moment, she can almost forget about the dollhouse of horrors they find themselves in and pretend like they’re a normal couple on a normal date. They cling to each other for support until they’re met by the servant once again, waiting at the foot of the stairs. He seems shocked by Cosima’s attire but quickly swallows his surprise to escort them to the dining room where a man sits at the head of the unnecessarily long table.

 

“Ah. Here are my guests.”

 

He rises, offering Delphine a bright smile. When he notices Cosima at her side, his expression shifts. It isn’t exactly a frown, though he clearly isn’t as delighted to see her. If anything, he regards the brunette with a guarded curiosity.

 

“We finally meet.”

 

Cosima matches his stare, her own face neutral as she tries to get a feel for the sharply-dressed man before her. He seems pleasant enough on the surface—certainly polite and welcoming—though his words are not an expression of relief or excitement, merely a statement of fact—possibly an invitation as he sizes her up and waits for her to finish doing the same.

 

“Yeah, well, it’s about time,” Cosima replies rather dismissively.

 

Delphine discreetly slips her hand into Cosima’s, a wordless reminder to remember where they are and who they’re with. She knows Cosima is full of snark but she hopes for both of their sakes that the clone can keep it under wraps long enough to get through dinner without angering the man.

 

He gestures for them to take a seat on his right and they do, Delphine slotting herself between the two forces. The food is quickly presented to them on platters by a number of servants who come marching out, plating the food for both Westmoreland and Delphine. When one of the servants reaches Cosima, she stops him before he has a chance to begin putting food on her plate.

 

“I can do it myself,” she tells him.

 

The uniformed man hesitates, glancing over to Westmoreland for confirmation.

 

“I can’t have my guests serve themselves. It’s impolite. What kind of host would that make me?” he asks with a smile.

 

“An accommodating one.”

 

They lock in stare, Cosima refusing to relent. A beat passes between them, Delphine nervously gripping Cosima’s knee under the table.

 

“Very well,” he nods. “That will be all, Simon.”

 

He dismisses the servants, leaving Cosima to tend to herself. She can hear the mental sigh of relief Delphine releases when the situation settles and they begin to eat. Cosima barely touches her food, not quite trusting it; she knows it isn’t poisoned or tainted, but it somehow feels like a betrayal of her values to sit at this man’s table and eat his food, so she absently stabs at a few leaves of salad. Delphine picks at her plate like a bird, conscious not to take too big of a bite or indulge too much. She seems painfully aware that she’s being watched and so she regulates herself accordingly. 

 

“So, Cosima. What do you think of my operation?” he speaks up. “Now that you’ve had the chance to see, I’m curious how you feel about all of it.”

 

Delphine pauses, her eyes drifting over to the brunette at her side. 

 

“I’d say lukewarm, but that’s being really generous,” she retorts.

 

Delphine tenses, her gaze then traveling to her left to gauge Westmoreland’s reaction. His smile is delayed, a quiet creature that spreads across his face while still giving almost nothing away.

 

“You aren’t easily impressed, are you?” he asks.

 

Cosima shrugs.

 

“I’m just smart enough to know that when someone’s dangling something shiny in front of me, it usually means there’s a sniper hiding somewhere.”

 

A small chuckle escapes him.

 

“I can appreciate a skeptic,” he nods.

 

He wipes his mouth with a cloth napkin, folding it in his lap.

 

“Delphine was also a skeptic at first, but she wouldn’t be sitting here right now without me,” he says. “Isn’t that right?”

 

“It’s true,” Delphine quietly agrees, her eyes lowered.

 

Cosima is the one to pause this time, her eyes traveling back and forth between her lover and her captor.

 

“She wouldn’t be here at all if one of your psycho followers hadn’t shot her,” Cosima snaps.

 

His smile disappears.

 

“I assure you, that order didn’t come from me.”

 

“Oh, so that’s supposed to absolve you of any guilt?” she challenges him, her tone becoming more pointed. “Whether you gave the order or not—you started all of this. You’ve set all these people on a rat race and now that they’re all killing each other trying to climb to the top, it’s not your problem?”

 

“I’ve never forced anyone to do anything, Cosima,” he says rather calmly. “I present people with options—opportunities. They don’t have to accept them, but they always do. Do you know why?”

 

“Enlighten me.”

 

He smirks.

 

“Because they know that the path to the future is never straight or certain,” he answers. “Progress has its price. You can pay it and press forward or turn back and get left behind.”

 

Cosima glares at him from across the table, Delphine’s sweaty hand on her knee the only thing tethering her. She’s reminded of Evie Cho that night in the middle of that field where the duplicitous woman informed her that Delphine had been shot dead. Evie had likened herself to da Vinci, seeing herself as some sort of messiah while Kendall Malone’s corpse was still burning behind them. As Cosima stares down Percival Westmoreland, she knows that his arrogance runs just as deep—perhaps even deeper; he’s unwilling to acknowledge the terrible things he’s done and she wonders if he’s even aware of the atrocities he’s committed, if he’s ever stopped to think about the damage he’s caused to others in his pursuit of knowledge.

 

“And what price have _you_ paid?” she presses, her voice low and quaking with anger. “You keep talking about sacrifice, but it looks to me like every sacrifice that’s been made has come at the expense of someone else.”

 

“Cosima—”

 

“It’s all right,” Westmoreland interjects, raising his hand to dismiss Delphine as she tries to convince her girlfriend to settle down. He turns his head to look at the blonde, offering her a shrug. “She’s entitled to her opinion… however flawed it may be.”

 

“Just one more flaw for you to fix, right?” Cosima jabs.

 

The rest of their meal is a short, awkward affair with Westmoreland attempting to make conversation and Cosima shrugging him off. Delphine tries to mediate, acting as a buffer between the two opposing forces she’s trapped in the middle of. When the servants arrive to begin clearing the table, Cosima excuses herself to retreat to their quarters. She pauses in the doorway of the dining room to look back and see if Delphine is following her lead. When the blonde rises from the table, Westmoreland reaches out to grab her arm, holding her in place.

 

“Delphine will join you momentarily,” he explains. “We must have a few words in private.”

 

Cosima plants her feet, preparing herself for another battle. Just as she’s about to open her mouth and begin hurling jabs in his direction, she catches Delphine’s eyes and the two share a wordless understanding that’s emphasized by the very subtle nod of Delphine’s head. Cosima’s instincts scream for her to stay behind and defend Delphine, but she decides to respect whatever plan the blonde is concocting and trust her judgment. 

 

“Don’t be long,” she says in a low voice, continuing on her way.

 

Westmoreland says nothing, his eyes following her as she departs. He sips at his wine, seemingly unmoved by Cosima’s attitude.

 

“I-I’m sorry,” Delphine stammers, immediately jumping on damage control. She bows her head submissively. “Cosima can be difficult. She doesn’t mean to be so—”

 

“You don’t have to apologize for her. I’m well aware of how difficult she can be,” he dismisses her yet again. “They’re _all_ difficult in their own ways, I suppose. It can be rather frustrating.”

 

She tries to conceal her panic as she reads his expression, attempting to decipher it. In the months that she’s known him, he’s always been a blank slate to her; there are times when he makes his feelings perfectly clear, but more often than not, he wears a mask of stoicism and maintains his composure. It’s hard for her to know exactly what’s going on inside his head, but she knows he’s displeased with Cosima being here. The question is, just how displeased is he?

 

“I think it’s probably best that she be on her way now.”

 

Delphine looks up, her eyes widening in fear.

 

“Please—”

 

“She shouldn’t have been brought to camp in the first place,” he says more sternly. “I’ve done you both a kindness by letting her stay until she was feeling better, but it seems to me like she’s been distracting you.”

 

“She isn’t!” Delphine shakes her head in disagreement.

 

“She _is,_ ” he counters. “She’ll _always_ be a distraction.”

 

Delphine’s heart is slamming in her chest. She knows how he deals with distractions; they must be removed from the equation. She had wanted to prove to him that she was capable of both taking care of Cosima and shouldering her other responsibilities, but he doesn’t seem to be buying it. She wonders just how much he knows, how much he’s been able to pick up on; does he suspect that her feelings for Cosima far outweigh her allegiance to him? Is that why he had wanted them both to come to dinner—so he could witness their relationship for himself? Is that why he wants Cosima gone—because he knows she’ll always choose her over him?

 

“That’s why I’m going to let her return to her sisters.”

 

His words strike her like truck, catching her off guard.

 

“What?”

 

Her eyes are full of confusion as she scans his face for more details.

 

“She can’t stay here—that was never an option,” he informs her. “I can’t have her interfering with our business, but I also know if I were to have her terminated, you’d never be able to focus.”

 

He’s right about that. 

 

If he had Cosima killed, she’d do everything in her power to crush him completely. The one thing Delphine does know is that he needs her. He hasn’t exactly told her why she’s so important to his plan, but she knows that he requires her cooperation moving forward.

 

“Cosima will go home and you will continue your work here.”

 

It’s a heavy blow. She doesn’t want to be separated from her love—have Cosima ripped away again after they’ve just reunited—but she also knows that it’s probably for the best. She needs to put the needs of Cosima and her sisters above her own—she needs Cosima to be somewhere that’s safe. If she knows that Cosima is safe, that she’s back with her sisters and working on some sort of plan, then she’ll be able to rest easier. 

 

“I…”

 

She doesn’t know what to say.

 

Should she express her gratitude or disappointment? As she struggles with her mixed feelings, he rises from the table and takes the few steps over to her, standing behind her chair. He places his hands on her shoulders.

 

“We all have our part to play, Delphine,” he says, speaking the very same words she’s spoken to Cosima on multiple occasions. “The work you’re doing is beyond you or me or Cosima. You have to remember that.”

 

She nods.

 

“Yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

Cosima sits on the edge of the bed, her anger stewing. She promised Delphine that she’d try to behave, but when she was finally face-to-face with Westmorland, her promise became impossible to keep. It wasn’t just his smugness or the knowledge that he’s the puppet master behind all of the tragedy in their lives; it’s the way he speaks to Delphine, the way he looks at her—like she’s his property. She could see how uncomfortable it made the doctor and yet, Delphine said nothing.

 

She knows it’s her fault.

 

Delphine will never say anything out of fear of retaliation—not against herself, but against Cosima. All Westmorland has to do is snap his fingers and he could make Project Leda disappear. She trusts Delphine, trusts the long game she’s playing, but she hates what she’s forced the blonde to become just to keep her and her sisters safe.

 

_“I’m sorry I make you make those hard choices and then blame you for them.”_

 

A knock at the door pulls her from her thoughts and she springs to her feet, her heart fluttering in her chest. A moment later, the door slowly creaks open and Delphine pops her head through.

 

“Oh, Thank God it’s you,” Cosima expels a sigh of relief.

 

She had thought it might have been another servant, or maybe Westmorland himself coming to scold her for her “bad manners.” Instead, her monitor quietly slips into the bedroom, closing the door behind her with her head hanging low.

 

“What is it?” Cosima asks, head cocked in curiosity.

 

She knows Delphine is upset. She expected it following dinner. She doesn’t appear to be angry though. She looks defeated, unable to meet Cosima’s gaze.

 

“You’re going home,” Delphine says, her voice quiet.

 

“What? He’s just gonna let us leave?” Cosima asks, disbelief settling in.

 

After the shit show at dinner, she expected to be thrown into a cell somewhere for offending the great and powerful P.T. Westmorland; Rachel already has Sarah under lock and key so it would make sense for her and the rest of the Neolutionists to aim for a full set of Ledas. She just can’t bring herself to believe that Westmorland would simply let her and Delphine walk out of here, no strings attached.

 

“ _You’re_ going home,” Delphine reiterates, hesitantly lifting her eyes from the ground to meet Cosima’s.

 

Her eyes are swimming. She’s trying to hold back her tears. It takes Cosima another second to realize what Delphine is actually telling her—that they’re going to be torn away from each other again. 

 

She shakes her head, adamant.

 

“No. I’m not leaving you again.” 

 

“You have to. It’s for the best,” Delphine tries to explain, nearly choking on her words in the process. “Your sisters need you and I need to know you’re someplace safe.”

 

“And what about what _I_ need?” Cosima raises her voice. “Do you even care about that at all?”

 

They’ve had this fight far too many times to count.

 

“You… you need to recover,” Delphine says, as if pulling from a script. “You need to—”

 

“ _I_ know what I need!”

 

They both stop.

 

Delphine inhales a shaky breath, unable to will the tears away this time as she searches Cosima’s eyes for some sort of middle ground—an answer to their impossible problem. When she realizes that there isn’t one, her lower lip begins to tremble. 

 

“Come here,” Cosima whispers.

 

She reaches for Delphine, tries to pull the blonde in closer. Delphine reluctantly steps forward and Cosima closes the gap between them, pressing her forehead to the doctor’s. She cradles Delphine’s face, thinking back to that night in Delphine’s office when they’d both had a moment of weakness and succumbed to the pull; Delphine had kissed her so desperately that for those few brief seconds, it was impossible to be angry with her anymore—it was impossible to be anything other than rapt.

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Cosima promises her. “Not without you.”

 

She softly presses her lips to Delphine’s, her thumbs brushing at the dampness staining the blonde’s cheeks. They both sigh sweetly into each other, the tension in Delphine’s body immediately melting away when she feels the warmth of Cosima’s embrace. Delphine slides her hands up Cosima’s chest, skimming past her breasts and reaching for the lapels of her tuxedo to give them a gentle yet firm tug.

 

“You like?” Cosima asks with a wriggle of her brows.

 

Delphine laughs into her lips.

 

“I do.”

 

She runs her fingers over the satin of the lapels, familiarizing herself with it. Cosima is the kind of woman who exudes confidence in her femininity, though she’s also able to fully embrace a more masculine side; whether she dons a form-fitting dress or a frumpy tux, she owns her body in a way her makers never can, certain and comfortable in her own skin despite the war that wages beneath it.

 

Delphine licks her lips, staring down at Cosima’s. They’ve barely had a moment to themselves since Cosima first arrived and while she’s desperate for contact, the logical part of her brain tells her this isn’t the time or place; they need to set aside their desire for each other and deal with the problem at hand. Too many lives are at stake.

 

Cosima can see the turmoil burning behind her eyes.

 

“Touch me,” she whispers, reaching for Delphine’s hands.

 

She removes them from her lapels, guiding them up to caress her face. Delphine’s breath hitches as Cosima presses a kiss to both of her palms and then guides her hands down again to the buttons of her shirt.

 

“We shouldn’t,” Delphine meekly protests.

 

“I don’t care.”

 

She presses a kiss to the hollow of Delphine’s throat and delights in the faintest squeak that slips out of her monitor’s lungs. 

 

“Turn around,” she murmurs.

 

Delphine shoots her a look of confusion but ultimately obliges. She isn’t left wondering for very long when she feels Cosima’s fingers work at the back of her dress. Once she’s free, she steps out of the dated gown and turns back around to face Cosima who is watching her intently, eyes studying all the dips and curves of her body that she used to know so well—dips and curves that have been neglected in their absence from each other, that scream out for attention now.

 

“You’re beautiful,” she tells Delphine, stepping closer.

 

With Cosima staring up at her so reverently, how can she possibly turn away from this? She decides to let herself forget about Neolution and Westmorland, about his orders and Cosima’s impending departure. Her eyes slide shut as Cosima kisses her with all the tenderness in the world, filling her with a warmth she thought she’d lost on the cold, concrete ground of the DYAD parkade as she bled out. Cosima reaches for her bra strap, toying with it as she wordlessly asks for the permission she’s always had. When Delphine doesn’t stop her, she reaches around to undo the clasp. The fabric slowly glides down Delphine’s arms and Cosima catches it before it falls, tossing it aside. Without a moment’s hesitation she directs her attention to the blonde’s bare chest, showering it with kisses that elicit those tiny sighs she’s so sorely missed.

 

“Cosima,” Delphine nearly whines, her hands finding her lover’s dreads.

 

She buries them in the coarse braids while Cosima continues to lavish her with affection. She feels her skin growing hotter, her insides beginning to twist and pulsate with an aching anticipation. Cosima has barely even begun to touch her and she’s already about to break apart beneath her. Delphine’s hands gently tug Cosima’s head away from her chest before she becomes too lost in the sensation.

 

“What is it?” 

 

“You’re overdressed,” Delphine retorts, hands reaching for Cosima’s bowtie.

 

“I’ll say.”

 

It takes half the amount of time to undo the knot as it did to tie it. Once it’s free, Delphine discards it and moves on to Cosima’s jacket, sliding it off her shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. Cosima grins, allowing the blonde to quickly steal another kiss before Delphine reaches for her suspenders, helping her slide them off her shoulders until they dangle from her waist. She attempts to step in closer for another kiss but Delphine stops her before their lips can connect, now engrossed completely in the buttons of Cosima’s shirt.

 

The brunette comes to a full halt, watching as Delphine delicately pops each button open, working her way down to the very bottom while taking her torturous time. Once she’s finished, Delphine glides her warm hands up Cosima’s exposed torso and manages to slide the shirt off, as well. Before she has a chance to continue stripping her lover even further, Cosima successfully finds her lips again with a greater sense of urgency, her tongue seeking entry. Delphine opens her mouth wider to accommodate, revelling in the feel of Cosima’s soft and pliant tongue brushing against her own, losing herself in the moment. 

 

She can’t even remember the last time they’ve kissed like this.

 

They had shared a few hurried kisses in the yurt as she was being pulled away to continue with her research, and before that she had gently coaxed Cosima back from the edge with the gentle press of her lips. Before that? Well, it was what she believed at the time to be their parting kiss and while she had lingered, she simply didn’t have the time to pour her entire self into the embrace. 

 

So, when was the last time? 

 

Before Cosima had fallen seriously ill.

 

_Has it really been so long?_

 

With that knowledge tickling the back of her brain, she moves on autopilot, guiding Cosima backwards until the backs of her knees connect with the mattress because who knows when they’ll have another chance like this? She’s reaching for Cosima’s pants, quickly undoing them so she can help the clone shimmy out of them and crawl back onto the bed. Cosima pulls her in close until the doctor’s body is drawn over her own.

 

“I’ve missed you so much.”

 

The words aren’t necessary, but they’re nice to hear and they fill Delphine with a sense of purpose. Cosima sits up for a moment to reach behind her and unfasten her bra, giggling lightly as Delphine tugs the garment away with the fervour of a woman possessed, desperate for more skin. She chucks it across the room and then buries her face in Cosima’s neck, showering it with kisses.

 

_“Mon coeur,”_ she murmurs against hot skin, feeling Cosima’s pulse thrumming beneath her lips.

 

Cosima groans, her hands dipping lower to slip beneath Delphine’s underwear and firmly cup the round of her ass. She simultaneously slides a leg between the doctor’s, pressing her thigh against Delphine’s center and nearly convulsing when she feels the warm stick of arousal against her leg even through the flimsy cloth. Delphine gasps loudly, freezing in place; the shock travels up her spine to her brain and she instinctively bucks into Cosima’s thigh, seeking even more friction to quell the ache between her legs.

 

“I need to feel you,” Cosima pants. “I need—”

 

Delphine silences her with more lips, more tongue, eagerly swallowing all of the welcomed noises that try to escape from the clone’s mouth. Once she’s satisfied, she journeys downward, her lips trailing down Cosima’s throat, ghosting over her collarbone until they seek out her breasts, drawing a perky nipple into her mouth. She can tell by the way Cosima arches into her mouth—the way her lips part despite the absence of noise—that the brunette is slowly building towards a boil. 

 

“You feel so good,” Cosima groans, anchoring Delphine’s head to her breast.

 

It’s been so long since she’s had Delphine’s lips on her, she almost forgot how easily the blonde can undo her beneath the simplest of touches. Delphine shifts her attention to the other breast, capturing the bud between her teeth and nibbling gently in the way she remembers the brunette always liked. Cosima’s breath hitches and she grinds herself down against her lover’s thigh, causing Delphine to pause when she discovers Cosima’s ample arousal pressing against her, coating her leg. She expels an elongated groan before reaching for Cosima’s underwear, hurriedly tugging it down and off her legs so she can touch Cosima with seeking fingers. The second she trails two digits through the wetness, they both gasp.

 

“Tell me what you need,” Delphine whispers, her fingers twitching experimentally.

 

She already knows, but she wants the words anyway.

 

“Inside.”

 

She eases into Cosima, the two groaning in satisfaction when they find themselves right back where they belong—buried in each other, breathing in each other, getting lost in their steady flow of give and take, inhale and exhale. Delphine burrows her face into Cosima’s neck, all of her focus in her fingers, in the warmth that surrounds her. She sinks her teeth into Cosima’s flesh to stifle the sobs she can feel beginning to form inside—sobs of relief and pure joy; she never could have imagined she’d have Cosima again like this. It’s almost too much for her to handle.

 

“I love you,” Cosima whispers into the air, blunt nails digging into the blonde’s shoulder blades as she clutches her lover tightly.

 

The sting of Delphine’s bite is replaced by hurried, desperate kisses. She plants them against Cosima’s pulse, then trails them over the clone’s jawline until she meets Cosima’s lips again, open-mouthed and urgent. She can almost feel the time bleeding away from them, but before it runs dry, she’s determined to say everything she need to say.

 

_“Je t’aime,”_ she whispers against the softness of Cosima’s lips. _“Je t’aime… je t’aime…”_

 

She repeats the phrase over and over, quickening the pace of her thrusting fingers as Cosima softly sighs in her ear. She seeks out her own friction, grinding herself against Cosima’s thigh, though her release is secondary—always secondary. Tomorrow, Cosima will be far away from this place, free from the horrors of this god forsaken island and even though she’ll be trapped in this place without her love, she’ll find her release in the knowledge that Cosima is safe.

 

“Come for me,” Delphine goads, her own breathing laboured as she matches each thick breath that escapes from Cosima’s lips.

 

She can tell that Cosima is close. The brunette hugs her tightly, her entire body tensing as her release builds through her body. She whimpers as Delphine rewards her with a few hard, deep thrusts that finally do her in and send her over the edge, her body convulsing in a fit of tiny explosions. She shudders hard, a long groan slipping passed her lips before her body goes limp, completely spent.

 

Delphine never withdraws.

 

Even as breath returns to their lungs, as words begin to return to their brains, they opt for silence, for stillness, neither willing to disturb their fragile peace.


End file.
